Anthony Weiner Dear Diary: Why, why must I serially lie?

The National Post re-imagines a week in the life of a newsmaker. Today, Tristin Hopper looks at the week through the eyes of New York City mayoral candidate, Anthony Weiner.

Monday
So what are u wearing? I’m thinking of taking a shower … a LOVE shower. want to join? Did i tell you I’m running for mayor of orgasmland? I will give u the grand tour, maybe with a stopover at pleasure city. Do u like chocolate? Do u like whipped cream? Do u like barbecue sauce? Maybe … wait, hold that thought: one of my aides is telling me she found some “important” news about me online. Probably something about my ambitious plans for helping the middle class. OK, c u later, hot stuff; u r a walking sex legend.

Tuesday
Well, it seems despite my best efforts, my habit of contacting multiple complete strangers with details of my elaborate sexual fantasies has once again backfired. You know, the real tragedy here is what it says about the modern state of American politics. It baffles me that, in 2013, a man running for public office must conceal his penchant for sending photographs of his genitalia to random women. I shouldn’t have to serially lie about that.

Wednesday
Man, Huma did great out there, didn’t she? Just fantastic … chin up, good projection, and she hit all the keywords: Love, forgive, believe, moving forward. God, I love her. It seems like yesterday that we first met. Things just happened so fast; within hours of our first meeting I was feverishly sending her pictures of my privates, always in grainy low-light conditions and always at such an angle that things seemed as large as possible. Accompanied, of course, by detailed descriptions of our bedroom routine and intricate instructions on what she was to be wearing. At first, she didn’t respond to these initial romantic overtures, but I knew the connection was there.

Thursday
I sort of thought that Spanish train disaster was going to take some of the heat off me, but I should know to never underestimate the American media’s capacity for navel-gazing. Either way, the more I think about it, the more I truly believe that this latest “scandal” has been nothing but an asset to my campaign. First and foremost, it is a serious coup for government transparency, since I’m clearly terrible at covering things up. It is also important to note that I am not a hypocrite. That was Spitzer’s mistake; nobody could forgive an anti-prostitution crusader caught soliciting prostitutes. But I challenge the media, my opponents and the voters of New York to find a single shred of evidence that I have ever shown anything but complete support for bizarre, reckless, extra-marital sexual dalliances.

Friday
Now, my campaign has “strongly” advised me against doing any more sexting — at all. Or at least until the election is over. My campaign manager even went so far as to wordlessly hand me a stack of Hustler magazines, as if I’m some kind of sex pervert or something. Well, it’s not about sex, Gary, it’s about connection. That’s why we got into politics, isn’t it? To connect with average, yet well-proportioned people, on a deeply personal and psychic level. Why else do you think I keep sending anonymous pictures of my biceps to the campaign team? Because of some inherent exhibitionist perversion? God no. My whole political career, nay, my whole being, is about people. And if I can’t be that way without being hounded as a pariah, well, I just don’t know what to believe anymore.